19/12/2025
I went to visit a friend of my dad’s. They led parallel lives in many ways…
both moved to the same town at the same time
both raised their families together
both practiced medicine together
both went on a lot of canoe trips together. :)
Friends for over 40 years.
They had a good run.
What a blessing.
When my dad’s friend found out about his diagnosis, he called him every week.
Sometimes more than once.
Just to check in, just to see how things were going…
and he always ended every call with,
“Love ya, man.”
I remember my dad teared up when he told me this.
I know these calls meant so much to him.
When I was visiting my dad’s friend, I told him that.
(I think he already knew)
I also told him that I was there with my dad for their last call.
It was a couple of days before he passed away.
They spoke a bit, and then his friend said,
“John, I’m going to let you rest.”
(he could hear my dad’s breathlessness through the phone.)
I know my dad wanted to carry on the conversation a little longer (he was a talker ;))
but he knew his friend was right.
“Love ya, man.”
“Love you, too.”
And that was the last they ever spoke.
During our visit, we reminisced about my dad.
He told me how much he misses him and how much he thinks about him.
And then, in the same breath, he said,
“But I know he’s still here.”
Yes. Still here.
It’s hard to explain, but I felt so close to my dad sitting with his friend.
I’m sure my dad was there, so that’s part of it.
But it’s more than that…
It makes me wonder about our loved ones’ energy being part of us somehow—
that when they leave,
they leave a piece of their essence—their energy—with us…
and that because my dad’s friend loved him,
he’s a part of him, too.
🌲